Chapter 4

ALESSIA

“I-” I swallowed hard, my mind scrambling for excuses, for anything that might save me.

Too late.

Max had already closed the distance between us. His eyes were hard, his jaw tight, his knuckles wrapped around the small box so tightly they’d gone white. “Answer me.”

Panic clawed at my chest—then, suddenly, an idea sparked.

“This potion is good for womb health.” I blurted. “I drank it because my period was late.”

For a heartbeat, he just stared at me. "So, you are not pregnant?"

The words were still harsh even though I already knew well about his thoughts.

I forced a smile. “I got my period this morning. Don’t worry, I’m not pregnant.”

Then it was like an invisible weight was lifted from him. Relief washed over his face. He exhaled deeply, running a hand over his face, his shoulders finally loosening.

“Good, I thought you were pregnant,” he muttered. “What was I thinking?"

I nodded, my lips still curved into that fragile, painful smile.

As long as it convinced him, as long as it brought him relief, I would say anything. I would lie. Because I already knew the truth—I would never be able to tell him. Max would never want my baby. Never.

“Max.” Clementine appeared in the doorway and slid smoothly to his side. Her eyes swept over the room, taking in every corner. “Oh wow… whose room is this?”

“This room is perfect for what I need! I love the wide windows, it gets so much sunlight, just the way I like it.” She smiled brightly. “You said I could have any room I wanted, right? I choose this one!”

For a heartbeat, the words didn’t make sense.

“What?” My voice came out thin, strained. “No. This is my room, you can’t have it. What kind of joke is this?”

Clementine’s expression didn’t falter. She remained perfectly composed, perfectly confident—already acting as if the decision had been made.

“It’s not a joke,” Max cut in before I could answer. His tone was final. “No debate, Alessia. You’ll give your room to Clementine.”

Before I could even react, he added lightly, as if this meant nothing at all, “It’s just a room anyway. There are plenty of other nice rooms in this mansion. Give this one to our guest.”

I stared at him, my jaw nearly dropping.

“Max, thank you so much,” Clementine said sweetly, slipping her hand into his arm.

It took everything in me not to react — not to scream, not to shatter.

My husband returned her smile. Something that had once been mine.

Then I realized. Staying would only mean watching this again and again, witnessing Clementine take my place, watching her cling to him, watching their quiet, intimate displays. I turned away.

I went to my closet, grabbed a duffel bag, and shoved in enough clothes to last me. I needed to stay somewhere else for the remaining days.

“What are you doing?” Max asked.

I straightened, the bag heavy in my hand. Without any words, I walked toward the front door.

“She looks furious,” Clementine gasped, hand to her chest, eyes wide with mock concern. “Max, stop her. You really should coax her… before she does something rash.”

“No,” he said slowly.

“She won’t go far. She is just making a scene.,” Max added as I opened the door..

How wrong he was. 

 I walked out of the packhouse.

I drove until the road curved into something familiar—the narrow path that led into the packhouse grounds. Before long, I pulled up in front of an old house, I stepped out and unlocked the door with the key Ragnar had given me years ago.

The scent of aged wood welcomed me. This was where I had lived when Ragnar first brought me here, where he had taken his last breath.

I carried my bag down the familiar hallway and set it down in my old room.  Nothing had changed. And yet, everything had.

My phone buzzed in my hand. Max’s name lit up the screen.

I ignored it.

I went to the bathroom and let the hot water wash over me. Afterwards, I went to the kitchen and made myself a simple dinner. For the first time in days, I felt like I could think. Like I could exist without holding my breath. This was exactly what I needed while I waited for the day to leave for Westvale.

My phone buzzed again and again. Message after message from Max filled the screen. I opened one.

‘Are you done throwing a fit and messing around? Come back when you’re done.’

I shut the screen off.

Days passed in the quiet of Ragnar’s house.

I felt lighter, freer, happier than I had in the mansion, the mark on my arm fading bit by bit. Each evening, I returned to the Westvale Medical College website, hand on my stomach, imagining a calm, safe life with my baby.

Soon, there were only two days left before my freedom. 

As night fell, I prepared a comforting almond-crusted chicken.

Just as I was setting the table, a knock echoed through the house!

“Hold on!” I called, already moving.

I hurried to the door, a strange unease curling in my stomach. Who would come to this old house?  When I pulled it open, my breath caught in my throat.

“Max?” My voice is tight. “What are you doing here?”

“Your little runaway-from-home game is over, Alessia,” he demanded. “Let’s go back,” he added, grabbing my wrist.

I yanked it free, heart hammering, heat surging through me. “No. I’m not going back.”

“No?” His eyes narrowed, dark and unreadable.

“Then fine,” he said after a pause, jaw tight. “I’ll just go inside.”

“You should leave,” I said, stepping in front of him. “Go away, Max.”

He ignored me, striding straight into the kitchen.

“What? Max! You can’t just walk in!” I shouted, panic rising.

“You just finished cooking,” he murmured, his eyes flicking to the chicken on the table. A faint smile curved his lips. “Good. I haven’t eaten. Let’s have dinner together.”

Dinner together? It sounded so simple, so ordinary, and almost absurd after everything that had happened. Before I could say anything, Max had already settled into his seat, looking perfectly at ease, just like every night we had shared in the mansion’s dining room.

I couldn't do anything about it. I couldn't get a strong Alpha wolf out of the house. So I just slid into my chair opposite him, taking this as our last meal.

Dinner passed in heavy silence, broken only by the soft clink of cutlery against our plates. Max didn’t speak, just as he always did when he enjoyed my cooking. Before, I would have teased him, demanded a compliment, and laughed when he finally gave in.

Now, I chose silence instead.

Only two days remained before I would leave. I memorized the moment, knowing that these simple, ordinary moments would soon be impossible.

“Do you remember the last clause of our marriage agreement?” I asked, testing the waters.

“The last clause?” His eyes lifted to me, brows knitting in mild confusion.

“Yeah. The one Ragnar added.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

I nodded, unsurprised, letting the silence stretch between us, until a loud knock at the front door shattered it. 

Another guest? I rose to answer it, Max trailing silently behind me. 

Clementine stood there, framed in the doorway.

“Here you are, Max,” she said, gliding into the room. Her presence shifted the air instantly, “I was so scared when I woke up and you weren’t at the mansion.”

Her gaze wandered to the dining room, to the plates already set. “May I join you two?” She blinked up at him, all innocence and soft vulnerability.

She didn’t wait for my answer.

Clementine slid into the chair beside Max as if it had always belonged to her. “Max, please cut the food for me,” she said sweetly.

Max moved immediately, obeying, as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

It felt like a knife twisting in my chest.

Now I understood—this was what I had been denied all this time. This was why the pack whispered, why they had wanted them together after all these years. Standing side by side, they looked like a perfect match. And I was never meant to fit between them.

The outsider.

“My stomach… it hurts!” Clementine suddenly blurted, her voice tight.

Max’s chair scraped back as he jumped to his feet. “What happened?” His voice was thick with concern. “Don’t scare me like that.”

She lifted her head and turned on me, her eyes hard. “What did you put in this food, Alessia?”

“Nothing. It’s just almond-crusted chicken."

“Almonds?” Her eyes flashed red. “I’m allergic to almonds!”

She clutched her stomach as she stood abruptly. “Max, my stomach hurts..."

Her knees buckled and she crouched, gasping. Max lunged forward and swept her into his arms, holding her as if the rest of the world had ceased to exist. “Breath! I’m taking you to the hospital!” His entire focus was on Clementine alone.

As they rushed past, she shoved me hard.

I stumbled, my body colliding with the edge of the dining table. A white-hot, searing pain exploded through my abdomen, stealing the air from my lungs.

I gasped, clutching my stomach, every breath a knife.

“Max…” I croaked, my voice raw. “Max!”

But he didn’t turn back.

Max left me there, broken and trembling, the agony in my abdomen mirrored by the weight pressing on my chest.